Insomnia
by XSpaRkieX
Summary: Kurt Wagner has recently been suffering from insomnia. It melts his mind, and warps his perception of reality.


I.

Kurt's eyes snapped open in a second.

He reached up and rubbed them with his fingers, and returned to staring at the fluorescent computer screen. He must not have been asleep long; maybe a minute or two. At this point he wasn't inclined to check his clock. Kurt had given on a good night's sleep several weeks ago.

That's when the insomnia had struck.

At first he'd chalked it up to nervous excitement, but after the third day, that theory was trashed. Now, he didn't care why he couldn't sleep, and simply concerned himself with keeping a hold on his sanity.

Kurt quickly teleported outside, into a tree just outside the grounds of the Institute. He lit a cigarette, and leaned back against the trunk. He was surprised at the amount of effort it took to form coherent thoughts now, and the nicotine at least kept him somewhat alert. He absently watched the smoke curl into the darkness, his head listing lightly to the right.

He felt his balance beginning to fade, and before he could correct himself, he went tumbling out of the tree. He hit the ground on his stomach, and quickly rolled over. Nursing his elbow, Kurt looked down at the cigarette that had been crushed into his chest, singing his fur. No doubt this would cause problems.

The smell of smoke around the mansion could easily be blamed on Remy; after all, the two smoked the same brand. Besides, who would suspect that little Kurt, the team's fun-loving mascot, would hold any sort of vice. But now, with the tobacco practically burned into his body, Logan would smell him out for sure.

Kurt fell back onto the grass, and stared vacantly at the stars. The cool wind blew gently across his body.

"Eh, fuck it."

Kurt teleported back into his room, and lay down on his bed. His body was sore from the fall, and he wasn't in the mood to try to sneak to the bathroom to try to wash away the smell of smoke. He could just say he'd been talking to Remy while he was having a cigarette. The Cajun would roll with it; he loved lying.

The dim lights from the computer and digital clock were burning, and the gentle noises of the mansion were a cacophony. Scott rolled over in the room next doom. The springs in his bed squeaked, as if a knife were being twisted in Kurt's ears. Someone got up to go to the bathroom, and the footsteps were like a booming drum. Kurt put a pillow over his head, and pressed it against his ears, waiting tensely for the inevitable rushing water, the pipes working, more footsteps…

A small tear escaped Kurt's eye. Why him? Had he ever done anything to deserve this? Whatever petty misdeeds he'd done had been paid for in full, and after constant waxing of the X-Jet, Karma probably owed him some good fortune.

Kurt pressed harder as the toilet was flushed, groaning slightly. The footsteps went back down the hallway, and Kurt lessened the pressure slightly. As he listened, they faded slightly, but whoever it was must have bumped a table, as a loud bang followed by a crash resonated through the house, followed by a loud, "Shit!". The noise was too much Kurt's head swelled, and his eyes rolled back as his head fell down.

"Kurt!"

Kurt returned to consciousness, and blinked furiously to focus his eyes. Evan was standing over his bed, shaking him by the shoulder.

"Wake up, man," he said, his voice scratching at Kurt's brain, "chow time!"

"Ja, Arschloch…" Kurt slurred sleepily.

"That's the spirit Fuzzy Dude!"

Often times, Kurt was glad no one in the Institute spoke German; it made insulting them much easier. His muscles were deadweights, and dragging himself off his bed proved the most difficult thing he'd done in days. He wasn't sure what was worse; getting no sleep at all, or getting just enough to keep you miserably tired.

Showering had become optional for him; he stayed by himself now, so what was the point of looking or smelling presentable? He simply picked up whatever clothes lay on his floor, strapped on his inducer, and slowly made his way to breakfast. He passed several people in the halls; he ignored them, and some were good enough to de the same. He practically shoulder-checked Bobby into a wall and Scott refused to leave him alone.

When he came to the top of the stairs, he had to stop. Poor muscle control, plus long flight of stairs, equals bad for Kurt. He'd managed it last night, so he figured teleporting would do the job, so long as he didn't screw up re-entry and splice himself with a coffee table.

He focused as hard as he could on the foot of the stairs, and slipped between dimensions. Instantly, he reappeared, and fell flat on his face. He hadn't fused with anything, but had managed to accidentally come back three feet in the air. He braced his hands under his shoulders, and pushed himself to his feet. Nobody saw that.

He shambled into the kitchen, wanting to avoid the noise in the dining room, but ended up face-to-face with one of the last people he wanted to see in this mood.

Storm was a very nice woman, and she acted as the surrogate mother for many of the children at the institute, Kurt included. He'd been avoiding her ever since his mood started getting worse, but as usual; his patented 'Wagner Luck' led him in the perfect situation to offend her.

He was already in a horrible mood, but at this point, the part of his brain that would normally censor the biting or snide comments that frequently enter his brain was out of operation. He decided to stick with one-syllable answers; it was about 6:00 in the morning, and he was a teenager, so hopefully she wouldn't find it to weird.

"Good morning Kurt," she smiled over at him, "aren't you going to eat with the others?"

"Meehhh…" Kurt grunted lightly.

"Ah," she sighed knowingly, "too much noise?"

"Hmm…" He nodded.

"Well, I usually eat here, so any time you feel overwhelmed in there, just come eat with me."

Kurt looked at the kind woman with blurry eyes, and worked his face into the first smile it had known for a long time.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome Kurt," Storm handed Kurt some money for lunch, "you may need this later, I don't think you'll have time for breakfast now, Scott and Jean are leaving."

"Thanks again Ms. Munroe."

Kurt was mentally punching himself. He'd agreed on monosyllabic answers, but he could have easily messed either of those 'thank you's into a 'fuck you'. He teleported into Scott's car, and cracked his neck. Someone commented on how someone smelled, but Kurt was beyond caring. He lightly put his head on the window, and closed his eyes.


End file.
